I'll Be for You
by KariTBB
Summary: NWZ. A series of short stories portraying Diego's and Felipe's relationship throughout the years. Alejandro and Victoria are partially included. Each chapter itself is a stand-alone, self-contained story so feel free to start reading even if the state is marked as not completed yet.


Chapter I – Fainthearted

 _At some point, you will stumble upon a little soul and it will be fragile and naive and helpless. And it will catch you off guard and breezingly tear your heart apart with unrivalled worry and joy and despair and bliss. And for the rest of your life, you will be completely and hopelessly in love._

„All right, fellow: Up you go!" Carefully, Diego lifted the wispy boy and placed him in the tub in front of him. The child's feet twitched lightly as they touched the warm water, but other than that he didn't respond. Diego watched, saddened, as the lad sat motionlessly. The water, stirred by the former immersion, sloshed against his chest, but the child seemed oblivious to it. Diego swallowed.

It had been four days since he had arrived at the hacienda de la Vega with the foundling. But, apart from panicing after nightmares, other than sometimes when being given food and once when Diego had taken him to the horses, the boy barely showed any sign to be aware of his surroundings. Diego had sincerely hoped that the kid would start to open up after a few days of safety, of stability. Of course, Diego hadn't expected any miracles. He knew there would be no happiness, no relief, no gratitude. Not with what the boy had lost. But he had hoped for some kind of emotion. Grief, pain, anger, refusal – _anything_ was better than the child's current apathy.

Diego still remembered how he had approached the hacienda, the boy resting firmly on his hip, tightly secured by Diego's arms. Although Diego had tried to conceal the turmoil that had rampaged inside of him, he had been sick with concern about his father's reaction. Don Alejandro de la Vega was a kind, generous man, Diego knew that better than anyone else. And he highly admired his father for the man's ceaseless efforts to disburden the lifes of the people in the pueblo and its surrounding estates. But despite his kindheartedness, Diego doubted the caballero would be thrilled to find that his adolescent son had ministered to an emotionally scarred war orphan.

When the old man had stepped out into the front garden, Diego had straightened up and held the boy just a little closer. His gaze had been fixed on the nobleman without anxiety. Determined. Audacious. Willing to face an argument with his beloved, redoubtable father for the sake of a small child he had just plucked from a battle field.

Diego smiled as the memory passed by in his mind's eye.

An argument that had never taken place. When being presented with the circumstances, Don Alejandro's reaction had been simple – he had called for the de la Vega's cook and as a matter of course ordered her to prepare some food for the scared boy. Then, just as Diego had thought his father couldn't surprise him any further, Don Alejandro de la Vega had taken a step closer and firmly clasped his son's shoulder. Diego had stood awestruck. An unfamiliar, mysterious smile had played on his father's lips – pleased, complaisant. _Proud._

The trio heading for the kitchen, his father had then asked Diego all kinds of questions about the boy, most of which Diego couldn't answer. He had asked Diego why he hadn't fed the malnourished boy any sooner – Diego, offended by the allegation, had explained that he of course had tried multiple times in the course of their journey, but that his efforts had scarcely been fruitful. Don Alejandro had then asked about the boy's background, family, possible injuries, about his name and age and a dozen other things. Diego knew nothing of them. He had reported to his father how he had had been going from door to door, untiringly travelling from village to village, hoping to find relatives or at least acquaintances of the boy's family. But if anyone had recognized the distraught child, they had been too burdened with their own sorrows to admit to it and risk being given another broken soul to take care of.

Don Alejandro had fallen more and more silent at Diego's account and by the time they had reached the table, anger about the unjustifiable indifference of the world towards a crestfallen orphan had marked the old man's face.

Diego sighed at the retrospection of the course of the evening meal.

He had placed the boy on a chair while his father had set down a bowl filled with oatmeal and sliced fruits in front of the child. Both, he and his father, had then talked at the boy for ever and a day, trying to make him eat. His father had repeatedly jolted the spoon that lay next to the dish, indicating the child to grab the tool. After what had seemed like an eternity, the kid had finally picked up the piece of cutlery. But instead of dipping it into the cereal, he had grabbed the bowl and tried to withdraw in a corner. Diego, a small, startled yelp escaping his lips, had quickly snatched him and repositioned him on the stool. In hindsight, Diego had to acknowledge that had been a mistake. Frightened and confused by the interference, the boy hadn't dared to touch neither the spoon nor the bowl for at least another half an hour. When he had finally started eating, Diego and his father had both felt too exhausted to even have any supper themselves.

Diego forcefully shook his head, directing his attention back to the present. Concentrating on the task at hand, he submerged a washcloth and gently started chafing the boy's pale skin.

"Just hold on a bit, fellow. We'll get you nice and clean and then I have a special little something for you today," he promised with a grin. He winked mischievously in hopes of earning a slight smile from his charge. His hope faded away, unmet.

Diego fell silent and resorted to monitor the boy closely as he scrubbed him. He didn't know entirely yet what would frighten the small child and what wouldn't, so he paid close attention to any mimics or gestures of distress the lad would show. He had already observed that the little one was scared when water was being poured over him and Diego was sure he would find more indicators of his silent charge's frame of mind once he would improve at interpreting the orphan's minimalist body language.

At first, Diego had been hesitant to undress and wash a child, one unknown to him at that. Firstly, it seemed wrong for, well, obvious reasons. Second, Diego was worried that he would scare the boy off, destroying the ever so fragile bond that may or may not have been forming between the two of them. Reluctantly admitting to himself that he couldn't leave the boy in the filthy, bedraggled state he had found him in, especially as it had worsened after occasional bedwetting during their return journey, Diego had eventually woken up to the fact that he needed to overcome his reservations.

On the evening of their arrival at the hacienda, after the unfortunate supper, Diego had bathed the kid for the first time. To his surprise, it had turned out that the boy didn't mind neither being undressed, placed in water nor washed. The experience had eased Diego greatly as it meant that their weird, flimsy relationship wouldn't be imperiled for the time being. But after the inital feeling of relief had waned, it had given way to reflexion and the resultant comprehension had left him miserable. The boy didn't resist any of the treatments – but in his heart, Diego knew he _should_ have. He was a lone child in a foreign household. He had no guardian to turn to but instead found himself surrounded by a bunch of strangers who made a fuss over him all day. Any other child would have ended up in tears when being cornered that way. But the boy... He simply didn't care. To him, it made no difference if he was given food or being covered in a blanket or held close – or undressed or washed or possibly abused... He would let everyone have their way with him without protest, without regard, without emotions.

Diego's hand paused, trembling, as he struggled to keep his solicitudes in check. Surges of greenish grey water swayed lazily beneath him, tiny heaps of foam dancing along on their surface. He stared blankly at the weirdly distorted reflection of his countenance in the murky water. Was it irony of fate that he felt just as tattered as his mirror image would adumbrate?

He blinked, trying to steady his thoughts and to hide his agitation from the child. He couldn't allow himself to unsettle his charge even more.

Gingerly, he continued laving the small figure in front of him. It was actually less a measure of cleanness but rather of comfort. Though the boy had never vocalized it, Diego had soon noticed that the child was all but permanently freezing. Diego didn't know if that was due to the lad's undernutrition or to the unfortunate circumstance that the de la Vega household, though prosperous and well-appointed, did not possess a single piece of children's clothing. Diego grinned at the subtle irony. Don Alejandro had long since formed a habit of giving away his only son's old clothes to peasants in need once Diego had grown out of them. As a result, the young newcomer had simply been tucked into normal shirts and socks of the two de la Vega men. Or rather, they were shirts and socks to them – to him, they were more like nightdresses and stockings.

Whichever reason was correct, the warm water seemed to provide some, admittedly temporary, remedy and Diego had accustomed himself to bath the boy at least once a day.

Diego dropped the cloth and grabbed a small bowl, filling it with lukewarm water from a nearby pail. One of the small insecurities he had observed when washing the fellow was a faint cringe whenever he had emptied a bucket of water above him in order to wet his hair. Any attempts to calm the child before spilling the water above him had been in vain. So this time, Diego intended to approach the matter in a more chary manner.

"Hold your head up! I promise I'll go easy on you today," Diego called out. He didn't receive any reaction so he cupped the child's chin with his hand and gently raised it in order to tilt the kid's head. That earned him a brief glance, although Diego couldn't tell if it was filled with fear, anger, curiosity or something else. Steadily, the de la Vega heir began pouring water over the back of the child's head, carefully ensuring not to let any of the liquid splash in his charge's face. He had to repeat the procedure multiple times until all of the boy's hair was thoroughly soppy. Alert, Diego stopped to take a scrutinizing look at the lad. He still seemed to be ill at ease, but at least he was by far less afraid than whenever Diego had utilised the bucket. Diego swiftly made a mental note to retain the new method and further enhance it.

He proceeded with his task and diligently massaged some shampoo into the little one's hair before rinsing it, using the same gentle technique as before. A pleasant smell of pines and soap filled the steamy room as the shampoo spread its aroma. Diego took a deep breath and his formerly tense shoulders gradually sagged. The pacifying scent reminded him of the quiet peace of coniferous woodland and, strangely enough, seemed to provide some consolation for his restless thoughts.

He completed the cleaning and tried, once again, to delight the kid by adding some wooden animal figurines into the water. Once again, his efforts remained without results.

Diego withdrew, his helplessness leaving him at a desperate loss of words. He fetched a bath towel and shuffled it together roughly before he squatted down infront of the tub. Barely reminding himself to put on a friendly smile before he lifted his head, he tucked the towel under the boy's armpits.

"And... here we go," he chanted, lifting his charge and letting the towel unroll along the way as he picked him up. The kid, now wrapped into a cosy fleece, mechanically rested his palms against Diego's shoulders, seeking support. The emotional indifference of the touch sent a parching wave of hurt through Diego's body.

He lifted him out of the tub and set him on the cool floor. Dark stains speckled the stones below him as the water trickled down the child's limbs and dripped off his fingers. Hastily, Diego started drying him off before he would begin to feel cold. The lad sprawled obediently as Diego rubbed his arms and legs, scattering tiny puddles around himself. Once he had finished, Diego coated the foundling loosely with the towel and headed for a bench on the opposite wall. A genuine grin spread across his face as he grabbed an inconspicuous bundle from it and held it out for the boy to inspect.

"Now, look! What's this?" he peeped cheerfully. The kid lifted his gaze but his eyes remained indifferent. Unfazed, Diego crouched down, unraveled the pile of fabrics and unsheathed a tunic along with some pants, underwear and a pair of sandals.

"Father finally had time to go to the pueblo today and run our much needed errands," he explained. He grinned goofily as a sudden blush crawled over his cheeks. "And, um, guess who decided to join him: Senorita Escalante!" He winked at the boy as if they were both part of a secret conspiration. "Lucky you – a lady like Victoria would ascertain that Father picks up some clothes appropriate for you. You can't really count on Father's common sense in these terms, you know..." He unfolded the pair of underpants and held it out for his little companion to step in. Wordlessly, the child put one foot after another through the leg openings.

"Did I ever tell you how he got me a pink shirt two times my size for my thirteenth birthday?" Diego twaddled. He brushed the bathtowel that was still lingering on his charge's shoulders aside and slipped an undershirt over him.

"The worst part was that he was so proud of his 'acquirement' that he wanted me to wear it for my actual birthday party later that day. In front of all my friends. And I didn't have the heart to tell him how awful his gift was..." Diego stood still for a second as fond memories caught up with him. "Maria was the one who saved me in the end. She scolded my father for wanting me to wear something 'fresh from the market' before it had been laundered. She told him how there were still all kinds of residue within the fabric and how irresponsible he was to make me wear that. Father felt so guilty that he personally came running – running! – to my room to tell me that I should _not_ wear the shirt that day." He chuckled. "Maria is truly a treasure, isn't she? Only a few days later she convinced Father to get any future clothes for me right from the tailor."

He extended his arms, holding out the cotton trousers. The child slowly climbed in. A barely noticable scowl, a tiny moment of hesitation betrayed Diego that he was evidently alienated by the fact that he was unexpectedly being given trousers again.

Diego smiled involuntarily as he pulled the tunic over the lad's head and patiently helped him plunging his arms through the sleeves. The fabric was soft and fluffy and seemed light enough that it wouldn't be a burden for the frail boy. Diego's gaze mellowed as he pictured Victoria hustling and bustling over the pueblo's plaza, her sharp eyes hunting for the ideal goods to purchase for a nameless orphan. Victoria was by all means special. Diego was still amazed by how... _particular_ she had reacted to learning about the new addition to the de la Vega household.

Diego closed his eyes, briefly allowing himself to embrace the still fresh memories.

It had been the second evening after he had returned to the hacienda. He had ensconced himself in the huge armchair in the library, his charge on his lap, and was quietly reading one of his old storybooks to the little one when Maria had suddenly appeared in the room. She had told him that Senorita Escalante had come to see him and Diego's heart had instantly started throbbing heavily. He had asked Maria to stay with the foundling and rushed to the parlor, only forcing himself to adjust his steps right before he had entered the room where Victoria had been waiting.

Victoria had been as beautiful as she always was in the dreams he would never tell anyone he had. Yet to his surprise, her tiny nose had crinkled in displeasure when she had spotted Diego and as she had rushed towards him, all of his admiration had abruptly given way to concern. Was she mad at him?

"Don Diego, is it true?" she had exclaimed, rapidily stabbing his chest with her dainty forefinger. Diego had automatically taken a step back, startled.

"Is what true?" he had cheeped. He had immediately cursed himself for his huskiness. Geez, what was wrong with him? To his alleviation, Victoria seemingly hadn't paid any attention to his unmanliness. Throwing one arm agitatedly into the air, she had spun around and started pacing up and down the reception room.

"Did you truly impregnate a woman?" she had hissed, whirling around to face him. "If you're honestly such a..." She had suddenly stopped mid-motion, apparently overwhelmed with blatant abashment. She had lowered her arm and drawn nearer to him. The sweet smell of her perfume had almost robbed Diego of his senses but the tremendousness of her words had kept his mind keen. The nerves of both of them being all on edge, they had then started talking across each other.

 _"What?!"_ he had shouted in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Don Diego," she had drawled meekly, oblivious to his simultane discomposure. "Here I came to see you because I didn't want to succumb to some dumb gossip and yet I still attack you as if..." She had fallen silent when she had eventually become aware of his incredulous response. A tiny sigh had escaped her rosy lips, immediately sending Diego into puzzlement. Had that been... a sigh of relief? A sigh of relief from Victoria Escalante that he, Diego, had, in fact, not fallen for another woman?

"So it's bunkum?" Victoria had interrupted his writhing thoughts, her palm resting warmly against Diego's chest and therewith sending a dulcet, thrilling shiver through his body. "I knew you weren't that kind of man. I simply couldn't believe you would be so impudent. The pueblo's been badmouthing for two days about you having an offspring but I wanted to hear _your_ side of the story."

The realization of what had caused the misunderstanding had then slowly dawned on Diego and he had rubbed his temples in irritation, failing to quell a blunt groan. Still, the sight of Victoria and the knowledge that she would rather muster up the courage to confront him personally than to listen to some ignorant rumors had soothed him greatly.

"That isn't exactly accurate," he had laughed, holding up his hands in playful self-defence. However, the vague statement had brought back concern onto Victoria's delicate features and Diego had recognized just how misleading his words would sound. Wavering for just a second, Diego had gallantly taken her arm and led her to the library. "Come."

"I found a little boy who was in a... desolate state when I returned from my uncle's funeral," he had explained as they had walked through the passageways. "He seems to have no family nor anyone else who'd care for him. The poor lad was besmirched from top to toe and infinitely frightened. And he was lorn and... _distraught._ So I took him home and..." Diego's voice had then suddenly failed, his face steadily losing colour. Somehow, putting the tale to words had made him realize just how stupid and immature his actions actually appeared. He was an adolescent, one known for a particularly distant, quixotic behaviour at that, who had taken in a traumatized child out of the blue.

Diego had come to a stop, his formerly benign mimics distorted by misery.

"Look, Senorita Escalante – I know that was not the smartest thing to do," he had admitted with growing dismay. "I... I know the church would have taken him – and I'm probably not the best pick to take care of a little child to begin with... But I couldn't leave him there, all alone and helpless! And I swear, somehow it seemed as if he..." He had hushed when Victoria had gently put her finger on his lips.

"You took in an orphaned child offhandedly?" she had echoed. He had pulled a face at that. Victoria had regarded him with a long, inscrutable glance.

"You're... a man full of surprises, Don Diego," she had finally smirked and the coquettish flutter of her eyelashes had reduced him to silence for good.

Wordlessly, too tangled up in his mixed emotions, he had guided her into the library. Victoria had dashed forward, crying out in pity and affection, as soon as she had spotted the boy, but had regained her composure after two steps. Uncertain, she had turned around to face Diego.

"Is it... okay if I talk to him?" she had inquired considerately. Diego had found himself nodding.

"It should be all right as long as you don't approach him too fast. Just... don't expect any response. He hasn't spoken with us yet and we're not even sure if he's listening to us at all when _we_ speak."

Victoria's shoulders had sagged in sadness at his words, but she had pulled herself together and carefully trodden over to the boy. For several minutes, she had spoken to him lowly, her voice a paragon of friendliness and softness. A lump had formed in Diego's throat as he had watched motionlessly. Victoria had always held a special place in his heart. He would – of course – deny that to others, but there was no use in denying it to himself. The young senorita was so bold, so fearless, so pure. No one in the pueblo was able to stun Diego and yet spark his enthusiasm the way she could. But that evening, the fierce woman had suddenly been kind, tender and endlessly thoughtful. None of it was on par with Victoria's usual demeanour. But when an anxious child had depended on her empathy, all of her energy had turned into gentleness in an instant. Diego had barely been able to keep his feelings under control any longer. Victoria Escalante was secretly an angel, there was no other plausible explanation.

After some time, Victoria had reached into her pocket and presented a bar of chocolate.

"Is that all right with you?" she had adressed Diego, upholding the sweetness. Diego had nodded his agreement, eventually joining her and his charge.

"Feel free to try, but he isn't very fond of sweets," he had explained. Not that the little fellow had been 'fond' of any foods, Diego had to concede. But Diego had noticed that he would eat smaller amounts whenever Don Aljenadro and Diego gave him sweet dishes compared to the amount he ate when being given hearty dishes.

Victoria had regarded his warning with a frown before she, unperturbed, had snapped off a piece of chocolate and gingerly scooped it in the child's mouth. The boy had not resisted the feeding but hadn't started neither sucking nor chewing the candy. Victoria had pouted.

"But every child loves sweets!" she had proclaimed. She had looked up at Diego, unconsciously seeking his help, and he had mournfully detected the disappointment lingering in her dark eyes.

"I'm sorry," he had sighed. "Please don't be mad at him. He just doesn't have a sweet tooth." He had tickled the lad's stomach briefly, hoping to ease the situation and to appease Victoria's anger. The tingling sensation, however, had instead resulted in the kid accidentally spitting out the piece of chocolate. Sticky and in slow motion, it had gracefully glided down the boy's – or rather, Diego's – spotless white flouncy shirt. His ears reddening, Diego had tried hard to act nonchalant. "Ehm... I guess he doesn't like chocolate."

To his surprise and delight, Diego had found that his efforts hadn't even been necessary. Victoria had already risen to her feet, taking no notice of his disgrace and carelessly waving his plea aside.

"Nonsense," she had contradicted with determination. " _Every_ child loves sweets." Then she had spun around, outrage at his former insinuation furrowing her brows. "And of course I'm not mad at him!"

She had promptly started pacing again. Diego had considered apologising for his innuendo, but had sensed it would only further her upset. Instead, he had cocked an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. He knew his childhood friend well enough to be able to tell when her mind was racing. But before he could ask her about it, she had wheeled around.

"Is your father around?" she had asked out of the blue. Diego, taken by surprise by the turn of events, had pointed towards the backyard of the hacienda in stupefaction.

"He should be in the garden, why do you..." he had inquired but Victoria had already cut him off, heading for the kitchen where the back door was located.

"Thank you, I'll give him my regards. Buenas noches, Don Diego. I'll see you soon."

Then, like a whirlwind, she had stormed out of the room.

Her extraordinary visit had left Diego in deep thoughts. He had spent half of the following night musing about what she was up to. And, for what it's worth, what she felt for him and how her skin could look so even and how her voice could sound so melodious... None of it had prepared him for the fact that when he intended to have a leisurely breakfast the next morning, his father had demanded to wait 'until Senorita Escalante has arrived'. Diego had been baffled – though certainly not averse. Despite his efforts to act indifferent, he had felt his heartrate rise as he kept asking himself why Victoria would join them for breakfast.

It hadn't taken long before she had appeared in front of the hacienda. A basket, covered with a checkered cloth, had dangled innocently from her slender arms.

"Good morning – Don Alejandro, Don Diego." She had bowed politely and then danced into the dining room like a spring breeze. The fabric of her red skirt had rustled softly as she had passed by Diego, her heels playfully clacking on the lithic floor.

"Thank you very much for allowing me to accompany you this morning," she had laughed. "I've made enough of each for all three of you – don't feel forced to eat all of it up though, of course, I'm just experimenting."

Experimenting? Since when did Victoria Escalante show any interest in science? Diego had sincerely considered to still be asleep and be dreaming about Victoria again. Though it was a very unusual dream.

It had taken him another minute before he had finally understood. Victoria had started unpacking her basket, placing all kinds of sweet dishes onto the table. Pudding and milk rolls and sweet bread and at least five different types of cake. Diego could tell she had prepared each of the goods herself – he had become acquainted with Victoria's cooking and baking skills throughout the years and would recognize her signature anytime. She had grown up in a family running a tavern and had all the competence and experience at her disposal that any man could ever wish for in a woman.

Barely taking notice of Diego, the young senorita had taken a seat next to his new companion and started feeding him dish after dish. She had been so absorbed in the procedure that she hadn't even participated in any table conversation. Continually, she had popped spoon after spoon, bite after bite, into the boy's mouth, gradually giving him a sample of each food. The lad had eaten obediently, but without appetite let alone enjoyment.

Diego's heart had continuously sunk as Victoria's efforts had remained in vain. After she had offered the last dish to the little fellow without success, Diego had unassertively fumbled for her hand.

"Victoria... Don't take it to heart," he had tried to solace her. "I know you did your best and I sincerely admire your endeavours, please know that. But I can't bear seeing you feel discouraged by..."

He had quickly – wisely – shut his mouth when he had become aware of the look Victoria had cast at him. There had been no sign of disappointment or resignation in the young woman's hazel eyes. Instead, the glare he received had been fierce, stubborn, eager even.

"What are you talking about?" she had called out. Rigorously pushing back the padded chair she had been settling on, she had risen and fetched a slip of paper along with a pencil from her basket. "There is a little child here who doesn't know the joy of sweets. And I assure you, Diego, I will not rest until I have found a sweet dish he likes! I am an Escalante, after all! I vow to put a smile on that poor picture of misery, even if that means I have to spend the rest of the year in the kitchen."

Diego had been too perplexed to give any reply. Awestruck and dumbfounded, he had sat and watched in silence as Victoria had crossed out various remarks on her paper, speedily adding new entries in their place. Diego's tongue had felt dry and furry when he had eventually come to understand. It was a list... A list of treats she wanted to prepare for his little fellow.

Unable to contain the raw emotions welling up inside of him, Diego had excused himself and fled to the reclusion of the secret cave in the library.

A doting smile still curled Diego's lips as he eventually refocused and completed dressing his undersized companion. He wrapped a sash neatly around the boy's slim waist before leaning backwards to examine his work minutely. Skeptically, he tugged at the tunic's fabric to assure himself it would fit snugly and not cause the lad any discomfort. Content with the outcome, he straightened his back, his chest almost swollen with pride.

"Now look at you! So chic and... just incredibly cute," Diego grinned. The clothes were neither special nor 'chic' – Victoria had paid heed to comfort and utility rather than fashion – but the child looked utterly adorable. Beaming with fondness, Diego caressed the fellow's cheek.

"Do you like them?" he asked. The little one looked straight at him – a rare occasion. Anxiety lurked in the depth of his large, dark eyes. He put put a finger in his mouth and started chewing it, apparently unable to cope with the situation.

"There there, don't you worry," Diego hastily called out. He lifted the boy and drew him close, muttering soothing reassurements as he took up gently rocking the child. Pondering for a second, he decided on heading for the dining room. Supper would be ready soon and his father would be there – hopefully the food as well as the company of another person would distract the boy enough to ease his unsettledness.

"How about dinner?" Diego suggested blithely as he poked the lad's stomach. "I heard Maria made her famous fajitas tonight. And Father told me that Victoria gave him some cinnamon rolls to take with him for you. Maybe you like cinnamon?"

He sustained the uninflected chitchat as he walked, talking quietly while the little fellow sat on his arms in a disturbingly stiff way. After some time, the child seemed to simmer down at last, though Diego could not have put into words what exactly he based that conclusion on.

When Diego finally reached the dining room, he found the area empty. The table was set already but there was no sight of food yet let alone his father. _So much for distraction..._

After a moment of consideration, Diego turned to his little friend and mimed a perfectly woeful expression.

"No one here but us – and nothing to eat, either!" he wailed, seemingly aghast. "Now what? Hmm... I guess we'll just have to play act eating and hope this will make us play act full, don't we? Watch!"

He placed the boy on a chair and took the seat next to him. Gracefully exaggerating his table manners, he begann pretend-cutting a pretend-steak and pretend-sipping pretend-water. Or pretend-cider – he hadn't decided yet.

"I must say, today's meal is delightfully exquisite. Won't you agree, Don Chubbycheek?" he twanged. He rose his glass in a toast, indicating a slight bow towards the boy. "May the foods be in your flavor!"

He bared his teeth in a not-so-pretend smile and, when he received no reply, reached for the boy's glass.

"What kind of refreshing beverage may I serve you today? I simply must recommend our freshly squeezed lemonade – it's made from lemons of the de la Vega plantations which are by far the finest fruits in all of Alta California, if I may say so," he declared snootily. His high spirits gradually vanished when the child remained in a slumped position, blankly riveting on the lace tablecloth below him.

"Hot chocolate then maybe?" Diego suggested but the forced cheerfulness in his voice didn't sound convincing anymore even to his own ears. Unable to stifle a troubled sigh, he picked up the lad anew and carried him over to the wall behind the huge dining table. A congeries of paintings garnished the pastel wallpaper, most of them displaying familiar sceneries – sweeping ridges or plains filled with sclerophyll shrubs in particular.

"You know," Diego mumbled thoughtfully as he ambled along the wall. "Father has a lot of prized paintings – masterpieces of notable artists that catch everyone's eye right away. You do remember the still lifes in the parlour, don't you?"

He paused, his glance shifting over the series of canvases.

"Yet, here in the dining room – do you know who made these paintings? Local artists did. Many of them not very skilled, I admit – just look at that crude brushwork in that one." He chuckled as he pointed at an image of a creek, but his mimics were filled with fondness rather than disdain. "Still... these paintings mean more to me than any of the valuable ones in the parlour. And supposedly to Father, too, considering he chose to hang those here in the familiarity of our dining room rather than some of the expensive ones. See, these artworks, as insignificant as they may be – they show the country around Los Angeles and thereby our home, our legacy. I have many fond memories of these places, you know."

He readjusted the boy in his arms, nodding cordially towards a picture to their right.

"See these rolling hills? When I was about your age, I used to lie down flat, put my arms firmly on my sides and then let myself roooooll down the slopes. It was pure bliss! In spring and in summer, the sheer blaze of colours would simply take your breath away." He wrinkled his nose in contemplation of memories nearly forgotten. "Not recommended if there have been recent rain showers though. Make sure to remember this worldly wisdom, fellow: Even if the grass _looks_ dry, the lower layers are _always_ wet." He let go of the boy's back to wag his finger ominously. "Let's just say... I did not pay attention to that once or twice." A frown creased his forehead and he snuffled indignantly. "I ended up looking like a tramp who had just taken his weekly bath in a mud puddle."

He strolled further sidewards, stopping in front of an image of a colossal canyon live oak.

"And see this enormous tree? My friends and I used to climb it as a dare time and again. One day however, I lost my footing and came crashing down. I broke an arm and let me tell you, that hurt like he... er, it hurt big time." He prodded the child's nose with his forefinger, grinning piteously. "Though I must say it didn't nearly hurt as much as the spanks Father gave me afterwards for behaving so reckless."

"Well, they did serve a purpose," a voice behind him remarked in obvious amusement. Diego froze. In an agonisingly slow motion, he forced himself to turn around.

"Oh, um... Good evening... Father," he mumbled bashfully. He duck his head in embarrassment and in anticipation of a reprimand, but instead, the caballero put a hand around Diego's shoulders and laughed heartily.

"Well, after all, you never did climb that darn tree again, did you?" he declared solemnly. Diego bit his lips and swiftly decided to leave this question unacknowledged for the benefit of the family harmony.

"Look, Father, our little fellow's all dressed up," he pointed out hurriedly. He shifted the boy in his arms so his father could have a better look. To his relief, Don Alejandro's face immediately lightened up, the former topic already being forgotten.

"Now look at that... what a handsome young man we have here! I can already tell you'll steal the hearts of all the girls in the pueblo!" he predicted, grinning from ear to ear. He pinched the kid's cheek but lowered his arm when he didn't receive any response. His cheerfulness vanishing, he glanced warily at Diego.

"How's it going with the lad?" he asked quietly. Diego averted his eyes, unable to withstand the elder man's piercing gaze.

"I... I am afraid, not so well, Father," he admitted hoarsely. "The little fellow..." Diego swallowed hard, struggling to continue. His voice was hollow when he finally spoke. "He doesn't care about anyone or anything... No matter what I do, it seems I just can't get through to him."

He buried his face in the lad's thick hair. The dark strands were still damp and the evaporating water cooled down Diego's heated cheeks. He allowed himself to close his eyes, gratefully blanking out the world around him, trying not to think.

He had been _so sure_ that he could bring up the boy. He would console the frightened child and, before long, he would put a smile on the small face again. Of course, he would never be able to replace his parents, let alone erase the pain and grief their loss had caused. But Diego had been convinced that if he was kind and loving and patient, he could without doubt provide a normal, happy life for the kid. But now more than four weeks had passed since he had found the lad near Guadalajara and Diego finally had to own up to his failure and face the excruciating truth: His unbridled faith had been nothing but the ignorant wishful thinking of a naive juvenile.

His father's crystal clear voice cut through the haze in his head like a knife.

"Are you serious?"

The old man looked at him, disbelief radiating from his very presence. Diego froze, alert. A sligthly... _off_ note in his father's voice had caught his attention. The peculiar pitch bared no rage, as Diego would have expected, but... _disagreement._

Desperate, confused, frantically clinging to the small glimpse of hope the words' unusual intonation offered, Diego rose his head. He found his father's eyes watchfully resting on him, squinting dubiously as they studied Diego's forworn features.

"Do you really not see it?" the elder man inquired. Indignation knitted his eyebrows as he held out his hands and moved his fingers impatiently back and forth.

"Come on, give me the lad," he demanded.

Too perplexed to question his father's intentions, Diego handed over the boy. The nobleman took the child and awkwardly tried to place him on his hip.

"How do you always hold him? Like that?" he asked curtly. Diego frowned and reached out to shift his father's arms who held the boy much too loosely for his taste.

"Yeah, about like that," he eventually confirmed. The caballero nodded in obvious satisfaction.

"All right. Then look at him."

Diego scowled at the absurd behaviour of his father, then hesitantly gazed at the boy. The child's hand lay on Don Alejandro's shoulder while his eyes were fixed on the man's weather-beaten features. Other than that, the little lad didn't move a muscle. Diego rose a questioning eyebrow.

"Wait a minute," his father ordered sternly. Diego complied, knowing better than to object the man when he had set his mind on something, as preposterous as it might be. Attentively, he monitored the boy till the afore requested minute had passed... and literally nothing had happened.

Frustration welling up inside him, Diego rose his hands.

"Father, I don't see what you are..."

The old buffer simply cut him short.

"Now you take him," he claimed straightforwardly. With rising anger, Diego took the child back. The kid put his hand on Diego's shoulder, but his gaze still lingered anxiously on Don Alejandro. The odd procedure evidently unsettled the child greatly. Diego couldn't blame him for it. But he _could_ very well blame his father for the unnecessary act.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to keep his aggravation off his voice and well aware that such a disrespectful behaviour towards his father was out of the question, Diego just glared at him. Don Alejandro lowered his palm in a tranquil motion.

"Give it a minute," he pleaded quiescently. Diego was reluctant for a moment, but he concluded that he owed his father that much trust. The old don had his quirks and by God, Diego knew he could be hot headed and irresponsible at times. But he had never been a mindless fool.

Returning his attention to the boy, Diego watched closely in order not to miss whatever his father was waiting for. But... there was nothing to miss. The little fellow sat on his hip – just like he had sat on his father's hip. He had his hand on Diego's shoulder – just like he had had his hand on his father's shoulder. There was absolutely no difference in any...

And then, suddenly, Diego saw it.

Diego's breath caught. The child's hand had rested on both of de la Vega's shoulders equally. But with Don Alejandro, his arm had been stretched – stiff, tense, trying vehemently to keep the caballero at bay. With Diego, it was flexed – relaxed, at ease. With Don Alejandro, the boy had leaned back as far as possible in order to try to move away from the man. With Diego, he sat in an ordinary upright position. As time passed, he even moved closer to Diego. With Don Alejandro, the young one's eyes had been fixed on the man – frightened, wary. With Diego, his gaze and the fear it held hadn't, in fact, shifted to the de la Vega heir. Instead, it had remained on Don Alejandro in precariousness. Only now, his glance eventually wandered off and while it didn't search for Diego for comfort, it didn't search for him in fear or mistrust, either. Instead, the formerly visible anxiety had vanished and been replaced by the child's usual bland apathy.

Diego's vision blurred. He staggered as a cascade of feelings and screams and pictures whirled in his head, sending the world around him into a tumbling spin and leaving him dizzy. He felt queasy, broke out in a sweat, hoped, begged, feared, doubted, _hoped -_

"Do you really think that's because of me?" Diego blurted out. His usually resonant voice was thin and shaking audibly. He could feel the moisture in his eyes nearly brim over, but he kept his composure. He surely couldn't be the reason for these differences, could he? Surely his observations were just a coincidence, an ever so cruel ruse of fate to mock him and...

The don roared with laughter.

"Are you kidding me, son?" the old man bellowed. "The tot is doting on you!"

He held his stomach, trembling with unreined guffaw, before he eventually sobered. His gaze mellowed as he focused his attention on his son. Very gently, he added, "You're the only one whom he feels comfortable with, Diego. Have you really never noticed?"

Diego straightened up. The child leaned closer and put his free arm on Diego's other shoulder. Hesitantly, ever so slowly, he rested his head against Diego's chest. He riveted the floor absent-mindely, but his breathing had eased since he had been back in Diego's arms and even his colour seemed a little less pallid.

Gingerly, but without wavering, Diego returned the near-hug. The tears formerly lurking in his eyes were gone. What had taken their place, instead, was resolution. Never. Never again would he let his self-doubt and worry paralyse him and thereby keep him from fighting for what mattered most.

Determined, ready to face _any_ obstacles ever to be placed in his path, Diego clutched the child tightly.

"Don't ever be afraid, fellow," he pleaded gently. He shifted his weight and ran his hand over the back of the boy's head. Nothing else was of any importance anymore. Who cared that he was young. Who cared that he was naive, queer, irresponsible, stupid... The child depended on him, trusted him, _needed_ him!

The realisation filled Diego with an inner strength he had never considered possible. An inner fire arose in his heart and he could feel its flickering tongues reaching every muscle in his body. Never again. Never again would he let anything derogate his efforts to shelter the child.

"I will take care of you..." He bowed his head and cautiously placed a kiss on the child's thick hair. "I promise you: You will never be alone again. ... _From now on, you are mine."_

 _AN: I hope some of you could enjoy this story although I am quite out of practice._

 _I know a lot of Zorro fanfiction authors write young Felipe as instantly trusting Diego and affiliating himself with him. But as Felipe has experienced the traumas of war and witnessed his parents' deaths first-hand, I can't see their relationship developing that easily. Diego may be as affectionate and empathic as anyone could wish for, but Felipe doesn't know him yet and a traumatized child will, in my understanding, more likely be apathetic instead of being grateful that someone attends to them. In the actual footage of Diego's and Felipe's first meeting, Felipe also seems distant rather than relieved. But of course, that's all a matter of opinion._

 _Plus, as devoted as Diego might be, he's still barely an adult. I can imagine how he would be insecure in the beginning and still need to grow into parenthood – which makes his dedication even more admirable._

 _Other than that: I hope it was at last clear that the chapter title referred not only to Felipe but to Diego equally ;)_

 _The title of the story itself, by the way, refers to the song "I'm for You" from Toby McKeehan. I came across it in a Diego & Felipe centered amv. While the song itself is not exactly my taste, I loved how it genuinely applies to both Felipe and Diego: Felipe is always seen as someone loyally serving Diego, but as far as I interpret their relationship, Diego needs Felipe just as much as Felipe needs Diego._

 _Lots of Love,_

 _Kari_


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